Winning With Him

by Lauren Blakely

  “Yes. And often.” He turns more serious. “But what I’m saying is I don’t want you to regret this. To say oh man, we started too soon. So, I’m going to have to lay down a rule.”

  Curious, I gesture with my chopsticks for him to go on. “Continue.”

  “No boyfriend talk. No future talk. No this is what we are talk,” Grant says, setting down his chopsticks in the takeout container. “What do you think?”

  “That’s three or four rules,” I tease.

  “And rules are good. Because I want this. Don’t you?”

  I set down my food on the coffee table. Curl a hand around his head. Tug him close. “Yes. I want to prove myself to you.”

  Grant shakes his head. “You don’t have to prove anything to me, Deck. This is for us. You said you were nervous about starting up. So, let’s not define this thing. Let’s not make long-term promises. Let’s just . . . be. Day by day, whatever that looks like.”

  I smile from deep within my soul. “I want all that, but can we maybe, possibly, pretty please make plans to see each other in May? Because I might die if we don’t.”

  Grant cracks up. “I see that’s going to be an issue for us. Death from sex camel-ing. Let’s not let that happen. I will give you the whole cock treatment.”

  I press my palms together and raise my gaze heavenward. “Thank you for the whole cock.”

  We compare our schedules right then. He leaves for spring training in Phoenix in a few more days, since pitchers and catchers report first. I’ll head to Tampa in a week, but I’ll still see Carla via Zoom, I tell Grant when he asks.

  When spring training ends, the regular season begins. Our schedules are packed, as they usually are.

  “I have one day off in April,” I say heavily.

  “Same,” he mourns. “But not the same one.”

  We don’t have any games in the same city, even, and the Comets don’t play the Cougars till July. But I spot an opening.

  I point to the May schedule for the Comets, then the same month for the Cougars. “Do you see what I see?” I wiggle a brow. “Los Angeles. Then Seattle.”

  “Oh yes,” Grant says, with a dirty growl. “You’ve got a day off between playing the Bandits and the Storm Chasers. And I have a day off too.”

  “And what do you know? It’s the same day. Want to invite me over that Thursday before I go to Seattle? I can make a pitstop in San Francisco for the night. If you invite me, I bet I’ll say yes.”

  “Spend the night with me on that day,” he says, pointing to the calendar.

  “Done.”

  We don’t even attempt to figure out what happens after May, and that’s the point.

  Even though I suspect we both know that beyond May is the real challenge—navigating a long-distance relationship with our jobs. But we don’t try to tonight. Tonight is for this long overdue reunion.

  “I’ll miss you before then. But that’s okay,” Grant says, chin up. “You’re going to focus on Carla and keep up all this good work. That’s what I want you to do. I don’t want to mess up your recovery, as you call it. It’s a good thing we can’t see each other. And we’re not going to make plans beyond that because that will distract you from your therapy.”

  I growl like I’m mad at him, even though he’s hit the nail on the head. “You’re right.”

  “‘Course I am. Catchers always know best. Did you know catchers are the smartest guys on the team?” he says, with a twinkle in his blue eyes.

  “Or the cockiest.”

  “Because we work the hardest.”

  “Like I said.”

  Grant grabs my thigh, gripping it with an affectionate squeeze. “Listen, Deck. What I’m saying is this: I’m not going to let you backslide by giving you too much access to my fine ass.”

  “Thanks for depriving me of my favorite thing,” I grumble.

  “It’s all for a good cause.”

  Indeed, it is. The good cause of a second chance.

  When we plow through half the food, we go back to his bedroom, change the sheets, and turn on the fireplace.

  We return to each other, doing some of our favorite things, then we kiss till the stars wink off in the sky. I’m not sure if it’s the fire or us that’s warming me up from the inside of my soul.

  In the morning, I wake to an insistent buzzing on my phone.

  31

  Declan

  The text blares at me.

  * * *

  Dad: You’re here!

  * * *

  I cringe.

  * * *

  Dad: I saw some pictures from the event Thursday night! Guess what?

  * * *

  I wince—because I can guess. But I don’t even have to type a response because he’s already writing back.

  * * *

  Dad: I’m in the city too. Are you still here? Have you gone back to NY yet? I’m at the diner we used to go to off Fillmore Street right now. If you’re around, want to join me for a cup of coffee?

  * * *

  I groan, rubbing my hand down my face.

  Grant stirs, slowly opening his eyes. My heart stutters as my fantastic reality registers. I’m in bed with Grant, waking up with him the day after. All those times in Arizona, we never woke up together. The view of him next to me in bed with sunlight streaming through the window, this glimpse of his sleepy face, his wild, messy hair, his lazy early-morning smile.

  But it disappears when his eyes drift down to my phone in my hands. “What’s up?” he asks, propping up on his elbow.

  I brace myself. “My dad is in the city.”

  “Oh.” It comes out like it weighs ten tons.

  I set a hand on his arm. “I’m not leaving you. I’m not going to go see him.”

  “Okay,” he says, but he sounds tentative.

  “I promise. I’m just writing back to him. That’s all. I’m here with you,” I reassure him.

  Grant rubs his eyes, yawning. “What does he want, though?”

  I sit up. “He wants to see me.”

  He takes a deep breath. “Do you want to see him?”

  “I want to see you,” I say.

  Grant arches a brow. “But do you think you should see him? Is that important for your therapy work? Do you think it would help you?”

  “Maybe. I guess it’s what I’m trying to figure out,” I admit. I’ve been weighing that since I saw the first note a few minutes ago.

  Grant sits up too. “I researched alcoholism.”

  I blink, surprised. “You did?”

  “When you first told me about your dad. I wanted to understand your situation, and I read how addiction affects family members. And then later on too, after the World Series, I did some more research. I wanted to know how to support you if . . .”

  He doesn’t finish the thought.

  He doesn’t have to.

  If we got back together.

  “Thank you.”

  “He’s always going to be your dad,” Grant says. “I want to understand what you’re going through so I can help you.”

  “But I don’t have to just jump when he says he wants to see me.”

  Grant glances at the time. It’s nine. “True. But I’m not actually waking up this early. I’m going back to sleep—it’s a matter of principle in the off-season.” He reaches for my arm, rubs his hand softly down my skin. “If you want to see your dad, go see him right now.”

  “I want to be there for him, but I also want to help him in healthy ways. That’s what I’m trying to work on.”

  “Then this is your chance. Just go get a cup of coffee. Maybe this is part of what you need. To know you can see him without getting pulled into his stuff.”

  “You think so?”

  “I do.” Grant’s decisive as he answers, and his certainty seals it for me.

  “You want me to come back?”

  He rolls his eyes. “You better. I need to get my lips on your dick before you leave for New York.” He sinks down into the pillow. “I’m goi
ng back to sleep.”

  I reply to my dad, then I swing my legs out of bed and pull on underwear and jeans. I pad into the bathroom and brush my teeth using the extra toothbrush he gave me last night. Then I return to the bed, press a kiss to Grant’s forehead. “I’ll be back in forty-five.”

  “Bring me a bagel,” he murmurs. “Sesame, please.”

  I laugh. “I will. Do you want coffee too?”

  He shakes his head. “No. I’ll make it here. I make awesome coffee. Do you want to take my car? It might be faster than waiting for a Lyft on a Saturday morning.”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “I left the keys on the table downstairs. Just take it and get back here soon, okay? The garage door opener is in the console and the code to get into the house is 38925, and before you ask, it’s my batting average to the thousandth point.”

  “You wish,” I say as I haul him in close for a kiss.

  But he protests. “I have morning breath.”

  “Don’t care, don’t care, don’t care.” I kiss him, then I promise I’ll return.

  I’ve got this.

  That’s what I tell myself as I head into the diner and give my dad a quick hug.

  He doesn’t stink of tequila. He smells of soap. That’s a good start.

  “So good to see you,” he says, his voice all gravelly, like the years have gotten to him. He sends a wink my way. “Glad to see you could fit your old man in.”

  Ah, the guilt trip.

  “I was really only here for a day.” I stay calm as I sit at a table with him.

  “But that was Thursday?” He offers a questioning smile, asking why I didn’t reach out sooner.

  I don’t take the bait. I home in on the things Carla and I have talked about. You don’t have to engage. “Yes. And then I had business to take care of. So I stayed an extra day,” I explain.

  His eyebrows shoot up. “What sort of business? New sponsorship deal?”

  “Something like that,” I say.

  “You’re still getting a ton of those?”

  “I am.” I rap on the table. “Knock on wood.”

  He lifts his coffee cup, like he’s toasting to me. “I’m proud that you’ve been able to strike so many business deals.”

  For a brief second, I wonder if there’s subtext there. If he’s waiting for me to offer up money. But that’s not why I’m here today. I didn’t say yes to figure him out. I said yes to figure me out. “What are you doing in the city today?”

  His eyes crinkle at the corners. “Seeing a new woman.”

  “And she lives nearby?”

  He nods. “Not too far. She’s over in the Outer Sunset. I had some business here in the hood, but I’m heading back there after this.”

  “Is it going well with her?”

  “I met her at AA,” he says, and I don’t even know if he’s sober again, if he’s a newcomer once more to the program, but I’m not going to ask. I don’t know if I’ll hear the truth from him anyway, and I don’t need his sobriety to be happy. I want it for him, but I don’t need it for me. “She just got her two-month chip,” he adds.

  That’s a red flag. I’ve done my research too, talked about AA with Carla. Dating a newcomer to the program isn’t advised. Which tells me Dad’s more interested in what he wants than her sobriety. But again, this is not my battle. I can’t micromanage his program or his life. “I hope it works out for you both, Dad,” I say, though I doubt it will.

  He spends the next thirty minutes telling me about Tricia. What a wonderful woman she is. How he wants to change for her. How he thinks she’s the one. How grateful he is, too, that I made time for him today.

  “Listen, you’re probably sick of hearing this from me,” he says. “But I wanted to say I was sorry for what happened a couple years ago. When I went to Vegas with some friends. Lost all that money. Asked you for help. I need to stop asking you for money.”

  That surprises me—his out-of-the-blue apology.

  But then, it doesn’t.

  Amends is a seesaw for him.

  I’ve been up and down on each end of it.

  I try to remember what Carla would say. Just because you accept his apology doesn’t mean you have to let him into your life. You can love him without enabling him.

  “Thanks for saying that. I appreciate it,” I say, and then it’s time to go.

  I say goodbye on the street as I head to Grant’s car, parked a few feet away. My dad whistles at the Tesla. “Nice wheels. Bet that wouldn’t take long to get to the Outer Sunset.”

  I toss the keys up in my hand. “Probably not. Bye, Dad,” I say, then wave goodbye. He blinks, then waves too, and I get in the car.

  I don’t offer him a ride.

  Maybe that makes me a dick. Or maybe it means I’m finally learning some boundaries.

  On the way to Grant’s house, I stop at Fog City Bakery and grab a sesame bagel.

  32

  Grant

  For the record, I am an excellent sleeper. I can crash anywhere.

  Team plane? Not a problem.

  Any hotel on the road? I’m down for the count in seconds.

  My own bed on a Saturday morning?

  There is literally no place I’d rather be.

  That’s why it pisses me off that my brain has a motherfucking bee in it right now. It’s flapping its wings, whispering dangerous thoughts.

  Check your phone.

  Maybe he sent you a breakup text.

  Don’t check your phone.

  He probably took off for New York without saying goodbye.

  I figured, stupidly, that I could sleep through Declan’s morning outing to see his father. Like it was just a dream. I’d wake up and he’d be back kissing me.

  But that’s not what happens. I can’t fall asleep again. Still, I’m glad he went. This is a test.

  It’s not a test for Declan though.

  It’s for me.

  Can I trust him to return? Can I trust he won’t break my heart again?

  I want to pass the trust test so badly.

  Staying busy will help.

  I get out of bed, brush my teeth, take a quick shower, and pull on some hot briefs—because positive thinking—and a pair of gym shorts—because I’m meeting Crosby and Holden for a workout later. I pad downstairs to the kitchen and start some coffee. When it brews, I pour the mug, go to my couch, grab my tablet, and catch up on sports news. The Dragons still don’t have a new manager. Our cross-town rival team has been cleaning house lately, and the last piece of the puzzle is a new skipper. Holden’s been antsy, hoping for one.

  When I check the clock, it’s been forty-five minutes since Declan took off, and my heart grows a little more restless every second.

  But I talk back to it.

  Trust him.

  I repeat that, as needed, until I hear the most wonderful sound—my garage door opening. A few seconds later, it closes, then I enjoy the clicking of the door that leads into my house, the footsteps pounding up the stairs.

  “They were out of sesame. I got you an everything bagel,” Declan calls out.

  All the butterflies in the city land in my chest. “Perfect.”

  I rise, meeting him in the kitchen. After I toast the bagel, I spread peanut butter on it, and then take a couple bites.

  He arches a brow. “You like peanut butter on everything bagels?”

  “I like peanut butter on everything.”

  Declan closes the distance, presses his body against mine. “Would you like peanut butter on my cock?”

  “Is that a trick question? Two great things that taste great together? Yeah, I would fucking love that.”

  I set down the bagel. I’m not into food play, but I’m into him. I’m into the fact that he’s here.

  He runs his thumb along my cheek, across my whiskers. “And I like your morning stubble too, Grant.” He kisses my jaw, enjoying my half-a-day beard. “Mmm. You just got out of the shower.”

  “I did,” I say.

 
“Love your freshly showered smell,” Declan whispers, and my skin sizzles, then heats even more when he crushes my lips with his.

  When we break the kiss, I ask, “How did it go?”

  “It was good. We just talked. He didn’t ask for anything. And I didn’t offer him a ride when we were done.”

  I arch a brow. “Is that a big step for you?”

  “I think so. He was angling for one, but I didn’t want to let him that far into my life—or yours. It’s my life. And ours. I want to live it on our terms.”

  I grab his hips, splaying my hands wide on them. “You’re so sexy when you’re all therapied and shit,” I tell him.

  Declan cracks up and hauls me in for another hot kiss. After a few minutes of making out just because we want to, I glance at the clock. “When do you have to leave?”

  “Around twelve-thirty. Maybe twelve forty-five. Flight’s at three.”

  “I’m meeting the guys at one to go to the gym.”

  “Perfect. We have plenty of time for all sorts of good stuff. Like this.” Declan sinks to his knees. Pushes down my shorts. Gives an appreciative smile when he’s eye-to-cock with my tight boxer briefs. I love how my man runs a hand over the outline of my dick then jams his face against my hard-on, inhaling my scent, and rubbing his cheek and mouth along the ridge. “Tell me you’re not wearing these to the gym.”

  I roll my eyes even as I grab his head, jerking his face up close and personal against my cock. “They’re for you, obviously. I have tons of Rafe Rodman briefs to wear for you. Especially now that I know you’re a junkie.”

  “Mmm. Junkie for your junk. They make your dick look so good.”

  “Bet you’d look good in Rafe Rodmans too,” I say.

  “It’s almost a shame to take them off,” he says, taking his time sliding them down my legs. “But a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. Because I didn’t only get you an everything bagel.”

  “Oh, you got me something else too?” I ask as I step out of the bright blue sexy-as-hell briefs. “Are you going to give me an everything blow job?”